


feathers

by pharonochs



Category: Slow Damage
Genre: Gen, Introspection, short fic, towa's cool scars, written before the game is released lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:33:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharonochs/pseuds/pharonochs
Summary: Everyone seems to think Towa's scars are entertaining.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	feathers

There are scars on the back of Towa's shoulders. They run parallel to his shoulder blades, cutting halfway down either side of his spine and curving slightly with the arch of his back. They, objectively, aren't any more noticeable than the rest of his scars. Another pair of scars lay vertically over his hips, even more prominent. Yet, for whatever goddamn reason, people were enamored with his shoulder scars. 

Towa's partners, associates, fuckbuddies, inspiration— whatever it's most convenient to call them— love to run their hands over those scars. As if they think the rest of the marks lining his arms or his chest or his face are off limits, somehow. He hates it.

They're always gentle when they do it. Like he's an animal that needs to be soothed. It's never the first thing they do, either. The touching only ever comes after they've fucked but before Towa can leave. Towa never understood— both the apparent need for frivolous contact and the strange hesitance they always brought with it. 

He'd really rather they didn't touch him at all while pretending to be romantic and kind. What's the point in giving Towa their true self, the one that wanted nothing but friction and violence, and then turning around to act soft and caring? All he wants is their carnal instincts, not their sudden bouts of humanity; pointless stroking along his skin wasn't inspiring.

Alone in his apartment, Towa sets paint to canvas in a bold line and scoffs.

At least Taku and Rei never attempted to touch those scars. Instead, they joked about his "wings." 

Rei thought they were amusing. At least, Towa assumed he did, because he never stopped joking about them. There weren't many times Rei got to see Towa shirtless, but he was the one to start calling Towa an angel. For whatever reason that was. Sometimes, though, his laughter just didn't reach his eyes. In those moments, he seemed much more… Solemn. Rei made the most jokes, yes, but he didn't seem to enjoy them. Still, he continued bringing them up, and Towa said nothing. 

Taku said it without inflection, when he did mention those stupid scars and that stupid running joke. Like it was just a fact. Towa was some holy fallen angel gifted to them by the heavens, and he was here to pick up extra shifts at the hospital. Towa was a magically pure being of light, of course he was, because he was letting Taku borrow his phone to call for a ride after a long day of work. 

It was ridiculous. Towa wasn't holy, or pure, or good. He was the furthest thing from an angel; he was someone who made a home in the shadows of a ruined city and lived only to bleed color onto his canvases. Their jokes weren't even funny, just annoyingly persistent throughout the years. 

Towa lays his brush down for a moment, instead reaching backwards to run careful fingers over the raised lines. His "lost wings", according to his friends. 

He picks the brush back up and returns to work. His scars aren't important.

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to be the first person in the slow damage tag for bragging rights lmao. i'm really excited for this game <3
> 
> talk to me on twitter @pharonochs


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